by Lane Hayes
He squeezed my shoulder, letting his fingers linger longer than might be considered appropriate. I watched him closely, heaving a big sigh as he stepped away. I studied his broad back and the well-defined musculature of his strong arms and legs. He looked every bit the professional athlete he’d once been. A physical specimen above and beyond the normal man.
“Alex!”
I scrambled off the leg machine and ended up bumping into him in my haste to not let the moment pass. It’s like I was compelled by a force I didn’t understand. It was the only explanation for my overtaxed heart and the stuttered burst of almost incoherent speech. So unlike me. There wasn’t one impulsive bone in my body.
“What is it?” He cocked his head curiously.
“Surfing. You still interested?” The invitation wasn’t my smoothest, but it was unprecedented, and this time I had the strangest feeling he knew it.
Alex grinned from ear to ear. His magical, joyful aura washed over me in a wave so strong I had no choice but to return his smile with one that practically split my face in half. I probably looked like a complete idiot, but hell if I cared.
“Yeah, I’m interested. I think your cell number is on the rental agreement, but go ahead and give it to me again. I’ll give you mine too.”
I gave him my number and stepped back to let him get on with his job. I needed to finish my workout and get out. There was no point in pretending I could concentrate with him in the vicinity. Later, when I was alone, I could try to process this overwhelming attraction.
I COULDN’T process it. Generally speaking, I had a hard time processing anything of a personal nature. I was shit at it during the best of times, so I suppose it made sense I was hopeless when faced with emotional turmoil.
I’d lived a fairly regimented lifestyle for over fifteen years. When my parents passed away, I threw myself into my studies. I’d always been a conscientious student, but for the sake of their memory alone, I was determined to be the best I could be. I graduated summa cum laude from Stanford and finished my master’s while interning for a high-profile development team in the Silicon Valley. Success was my only focus. I amassed property investing in rentals up and down the coast while working insane hours at my own start-up firm. Once I landed a few big-name projects, I decided to focus on my personal life and relocate to Oxnard where my brother Ryan still lived at the time.
Ryan was a firefighter and a lady’s man. We were five years apart and had close to nothing in common. When our folks died, we dealt with loss in very opposite ways. I worked, and Ryan partied like a rock star. A brief stint in rehab encouraged him to get his act together, and when he met his future wife, Shelly, he did. He was so damn happy. The goofy stares and silly smiles seemed a bit immature, but I figured he had the right idea. It was time for me to marry too.
The problem was I never dated. Ever. Since college my only sexual release at that time was courtesy of my right hand or a one-night stand. It was laughable I’d given Alex a shocked stare when I considered how many times I’d gone home with someone I hoped never to see in the light of day. I couldn’t meet a wife that way, so I asked Shelly if she knew anyone. She introduced me to Caroline, a friend of her sister’s. She was smart, pretty, no-nonsense, and highly driven. Instead of asking her out, I hired her. When she proved to not only be a savvy career woman but a bilingual one as well, I decided to pursue her romantically. Many of my employees spoke Spanish, and hey… it was good business. I didn’t think of our marriage as a merger and acquisition, but looking back now I realize that’s exactly what it was. A business deal. It took less than two years for me to fuck it up. I vowed never to go there again. I hadn’t loved Caroline, and though I had my doubts she ever loved me, I’d ended up hurting her all the same. It wasn’t something I wanted to repeat.
The proverbial dust settled eventually. Caroline remarried. My brother moved to Tahoe and started a family. My closest friends, Jake and Derek, broke up, and Jake moved to LA, where he was happier than ever with his new man. I was the guy stuck in a holding pattern. Success in the business world had been my focus for so long, but it was a solitary endeavor. The difference between being alone and being lonely had never been more obvious. I felt unsettled, which was no doubt why things had gotten so out of hand last year.
And now I felt haunted. Ancient ghosts and newer ones were unexpectedly at the forefront of my mind. The reasons weren’t a mystery, though. I was still brooding over last weekend’s brief but awkward conversation with Julie. Any reminder of last summer and the aftermath generally left me tense for days. But to be spinning on events from fifteen years ago was… odd. I couldn’t say how or why, but Alex was certainly the catalyst. Suddenly I couldn’t stop remembering things I worked very hard to bury a lifetime ago.
Music blasting down hallways, carefree conversations, and the melodic strains of Beethoven.
It was like hearing forgotten lyrics to a song I’d once loved. The soundtrack of my youth when the unanticipated was a source of wonder, not suspicion. A time of hope, joy, and possibility bound in the beauty of first love or crazy infatuation. I was reminded of the one and only time I’d been sublimely happy and head over fucking heels for someone. A guy.
The fact that my first real crush was with a man didn’t bother me, though I’d only been with one girl before Scott. It began so innocently. Shared classes, studying for midterms, grabbing a bite to eat. Things college kids do with either gender without second thought. I recognized I was drawn to him, though in the beginning I wouldn’t have associated the word crush with my attraction. But the first time he leaned in too close for me to mistake his advance for what it was, I knew I was embarking down an unmarked path. It had happened so fast I hardly had a chance to put up a fight. Why would I? I was happy and more than a little blown away he was interested in me at all. Scott was fun and full of life. He was easy company, affectionate, and friendly. Everyone found him charming, and I was no different. I was where I wanted to be. In Northern California I was far enough from my family and anyone who might disapprove. When the time was right, I’d deal with the hard parts. Like possibly being disowned.
Of course fate stepped in, and everything changed.
What had started as so simple became too complicated, too distracting, and the fallout had been excruciating. I hadn’t referred to myself as bi in years. That was a “curious” phase from college. I was a straight man.
But lately I kept hearing that music. Laughter mingled with the soft strains of a haunting Beethoven sonata. It was doing something to me. Making me wish for… more.
I hadn’t given two thoughts to a man’s sexuality in a very long time. It was pure speculation on my part, though I was generally good at reading signals. Acting on them appropriately, at least on the personal front, was my weakness. If I read him correctly, Alex was gay or perhaps bi. And he was interested.
As I looked out at the dark ocean from my balcony, with the city lights painting a ghostly reflection on the deceptively calm surface, I recognized the pull. It was the same way I’d felt around Scott years ago. Working an ungodly number of hours this past week had done nothing to get Alex off my mind. That alone had to be a sign. This feeling was going nowhere fast.
I picked up my cell and dialed his number.
Three
WHEN ALEX agreed to go surfing early Saturday morning, I was thrilled. When he had to postpone it to Sunday, I was bummed. And pissed at myself. I shouldn’t care. If I cared too much, it would be off-putting. I needed to act cool and nonchalant. I reminded myself my efforts at processing past and present were a private, internal dialogue. Alex had no way of knowing the effect he had on me.
We agreed to meet in the underground parking garage and drive our boards twenty minutes up the coast to Surfrider Beach in Malibu. There were decent waves closer to home in Venice or Manhattan Beach, but general consensus acknowledged the best surf in the area could be found in Malibu. Alex claimed to be an early riser and didn’t mind heading out at the crack of dawn
to avoid crowds and traffic.
“Mornin’,” he yawned, muffling the sound with a hand over his mouth.
I was busy securing my board to the roof of my Range Rover and nearly fell from my perch when I saw my surfing partner. He was dressed in blue-striped trunks and a white rash guard that lovingly showcased his cut abs and generous biceps. I gulped and looked away quickly.
“G’morning. What’s in the cooler?” I asked as I motioned for him to pass me his board to fasten to the roof next to mine.
“Water, protein drink, fruit. I was going to make coffee, but I thought maybe you’d had some already. And I can’t drink it without eating something too. Where do you want it? Trunk?”
“Uh, yeah. Go ahead and store it. I’ll be done in a sec.”
He flashed me his patent gorgeous smile and the effect was instantaneous. Like the sun breaking through the clouds. My hands felt slick and yeah, my traitorous heart tripped over itself. I closed my eyes for a moment, willing my libido to behave. I felt like a damn teenager. Not good. I couldn’t remember ever getting hard because of a smile, for fuck’s sake. I had to pull myself together and act… normal.
Once we were finally on our way heading north on Pacific Coast Highway, I snuck a brief sideways glance at my passenger. He was staring at me curiously with his head tilted and a funny expression on his face.
“What?”
“Nothing. You’re kinda quiet. That’s all.” He smiled softly and turned to stifle another yawn.
“Hmph. I’m always quiet. You’re the chatty one. And you’re exhausted. What did you do last night?” I bit my bottom lip hard and forced myself to ask the next question in as teasing a voice as I could muster. “Another dance partner?”
Alex swiveled in his seat to face me and let out a hearty chuckle. “No, too damn busy to play. Sadly, that means no dancing or any other kind of fun.”
I gulped at his playfully lecherous tone.
“So tell me about your week.”
“Missed me, eh? Well, part of it was work. I have a couple clients training for triathlons and—”
“Triathlons? I thought you just did weight training.”
“God, no! I’d be bored out of my skull if I had to stay inside all day. I have too much energy. I can’t sit still. I never could. Used to drive my parents crazy,” he claimed with a self-deprecating shrug.
“But why own a gym, then?”
“Self-motivation isn’t easy for most. People like places they can go to for discipline. School, church, the gym. It’s human nature. My job is to get them in shape and motivated to do something besides come by for basic weight training and cardio. I have amazing equipment but—”
“Yes you do.” I winced when I heard the double entendre leave my mouth. I hoped he’d leave it alone, but no such luck.
His laughter rang like a bell in the SUV’s luxury interior. I turned to give him an eye roll and swallowed hard when I found him closer than expected.
“I don’t think you know how amazing my equipment really is. You haven’t really tried it.” He pitched his voice low and fuck if it didn’t go straight to my groin.
“Uh.”
“What was I saying?”
“Um… motivating people to push themselves?”
“Right. Personally, I like being outdoors whenever possible. Most athletes do a little bit of everything. Weight training, yes. But also running and endurance training. I do the long-distance running and strength portion and leave the swimming and biking to the more qualified trainers. In the long run, it’s best to encourage my clients to go for something beyond what they hoped to achieve. Go for a goal and raise the bar when you get there. It seems to resonate. Like you said, there is no shortage of places to work out in LA. Definition had to be special. And so far, so good.”
“Congrats. It’s really impressive. I’m not much of a gym guy, but your place is cool.”
“Well, surfing and running are great substitutes, but never underestimate the importance of core training,” he said with a wink.
I returned his grin, then looked out the window at the beautiful coastline. There was a thin marine layer but it would certainly clear by midmorning. I felt a sense of tranquility I hadn’t experienced in years as we passed Topanga Beach. Usually I’d be in a hurry to get to my destination, but this morning I was content to enjoy the drive and my loquacious passenger, who pointed out a pod of pelicans gracefully skimming the ocean’s surface before he continued talking about his busy week.
“I was swamped with clients, paperwork, and of course, the return of family fun.”
“I take it you’re being facetious.”
Alex snorted. “My dad is driving me nuts. Same ol’ shit, but it caught me off guard ’cause it’s been a while since he’s been so….”
“Persistent?”
“More like irrational, pigheaded, stubborn, cantankerous. Take your pick.”
“I think those all mean roughly the same thing.”
“Definition. You know that’s why I chose the name I did for the gym.”
“Huh?” I was thrown by the sudden topic change. Maybe he didn’t want to talk about his dad after all.
Alex chuckled. “I like it when words have dual meaning. Define a word, define your body. Get it?”
“Uh yeah, but what does that have to do with your dad?”
“Nothing. I was just reminded of all the words in two languages I could use to describe him, and they all come back to some variation of stubborn. He’s perfectly willing to bend any rule to protect the integrity of the one thing he holds sacred. Everything else? Not so much.”
“Soccer?”
Alex nodded and looked out the window. His view was the imposing rocky cliffs, but I doubted he was concerned with the scenery.
“You’ve been retired from soccer for a while, right?”
“A couple years now.”
His voice sounded muffled and almost sad. Normally, I’d back off. There was no sense in drudging up demons. But I couldn’t let it be.
“Why did you retire?”
“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you another time. Some days I regret my decision, but most of the time I’m resolved with my choice. Which is good, because there’s no going back.” He flashed a bright smile and pivoted toward me in his seat as I made a left-hand turn into the beach parking lot. “The crux of every issue in life for Tonio Reyes comes back to soccer. My early retirement still bugs him. But for different reasons than it bothers me.”
I parked the SUV in the mostly deserted lot and was amused to find Alex scrambling to get out of the vehicle. He didn’t seem agitated about whatever was going on with his father now. He seemed delighted to be at a beach with a surfboard on a Sunday morning. There was an almost childlike quality to his exuberance. It was hard to deny the magnetic pull of a person who was able to find joy in whatever they were doing and whomever they were with.
I found myself wearing a silly grin as I followed Alex toward the shore with my board slung under my arm. I nearly tripped once in the uneven sand when my gaze settled on the shapely curve of his ass in the wetsuit he’d changed into in the parking lot. Thankfully, he didn’t notice. I made an effort to listen carefully to avoid an embarrassing face-plant. He was chatting about wind speed and water temperature. The wind was mild, but it caught every other word, making it difficult to hear him, though his cheerful tone and carefree attitude made words superfluous. I understood he was happy in the moment. And for the first time in a long while, I was too.
SURFING IS an individual sport. You can do it with others, but ultimately you’re on your own. I learned to surf as a kid. No doubt having an older brother who loved the ocean sparked my interest. I was the pesky twelve-year-old with specially fitted sports glasses who’d followed his cool seventeen-year-old brother and his buddies to find the best waves in Ventura County. I’d taken to it immediately, and it soon became my thing. Ryan only went out now on his rare visits to Oxnard and usually only because of my relentle
ss cajoling. Most of the time, I went alone. Happily. It was the perfect outdoor activity for someone like me. I loved the water, and I loved my solitude.
The break in Malibu was beautiful, and today the waves were a decent three to five feet. Good conditions with light winds. The sets were coming in at a steady pace. Not too fast, not too slow. I snuck a peak at Alex, who was paddling out facedown on his board a few feet in front of me. We’d ridden a few sets in so far, and I had to admit, he was good. His balance and form were impeccable. It was easy to see he’d had some experience, but moreover, he was an athlete. I had a feeling he was the kind of guy who would have figured out how to surf today even if he’d never been on a board before in his life. Determination and competitiveness were second nature to him.
A couple of hours later, the summer weekend crowds began to make an appearance. There was plenty of ocean, but sharing the waves wasn’t as much fun when there were so many inexperienced people out. I signaled to Alex, who nodded and began paddling toward the shore just as a huge wall of water formed behind him. It was three times the size of the waves we’d been riding, and though he’d proven to be a competent surfer, he was in for a nasty wipeout if he didn’t notice it immediately. I threw my arm up and gestured wildly. He turned to look behind him, but instead of paddling to the side to clip the shorter portion of the wave, he grinned like a madman and prepared to hop up on his board.
Fuck. This wasn’t going to end well. His timing was off. There was no way he wasn’t going to get pummeled. I was helpless to do anything more than watch and hope he didn’t get seriously injured. He crouched low and managed to ride the barrel for mere seconds before being trounced in the whitewash. I paddled quickly back to where he’d been, but there was no sign of him or his board.
“Alex!” I yelled above the din of the crashing surf. Nothing.